Can You Keep A Secret? Part 32

As I arrive home, I'm glowing all over. A lightbulb has switched on inside me. Suddenly I know what the meaning of life is. Jemima is wrong. Men and women aren't enemies. Men and women are soulmates. And if they were just honest, right from the word go, then they'd all realize it. All this being mysterious and aloof is complete rubbish. Everyone should share their secrets straight away!

I'm so inspired, I think I'm going to write a book on relations.h.i.+ps. It will be called 'Don't Be Scared To Share', and it will show that men and women should be honest with each other and they'll communicate better, and understand each other, and never have to pretend about anything, ever again. And it could apply to families, too. And politics! Maybe if world leaders all told each other a few personal secrets, then there wouldn't be any more wars! I think I'm really on to something.

I float up the stairs and unlock the door of our flat.

'Lissy!' I call. 'Lissy, I'm in love!'

There isn't any reply, and I feel a twinge of disappointment. I wanted someone to talk to. I wanted someone to tell all about my brilliant new theory of life and- I hear a thumping sound from her room, and stand completely still in the hallway, transfixed. Oh my G.o.d. The mysterious thumping sounds. There's another one. Then two more. What on earth- And then I see it, through the door of the sitting room. On the floor, next to the sofa. A briefcase. A black leather briefcase. It's him. It's Jean-Paul. He's in there. Right this minute! I take a few steps forward and stare at her door, intrigued.

What are they doing?

I just don't believe her story that they're having s.e.x. But what else could it be? What else could it possibly- OK ... Just stop. It's none of my business. If Lissy doesn't want to tell me what she's up to, she doesn't want to tell me. Feeling very mature, I walk into the kitchen and pick up the kettle to make myself a cup of coffee.

Then I put it down again. Why doesn't she want to tell me? Why does she have a secret from me? We're best friends! I mean it was she who said we shouldn't have any secrets.

I can't stand this. Curiosity is niggling at me like a burr. It's unbearable. And this could be my only chance to find out the truth. But how? I can't just walk in there. Can I?

All of a sudden, a little thought occurs to me. Suppose I hadn't seen the briefcase? Suppose I'd just walked into the flat perfectly innocently, like I normally do, and happened to go straight to Lissy's door and happened to open it? n.o.body could blame me then, could they? It would just be an honest mistake.

I come out of the kitchen, listen intently for a moment, then quickly tiptoe back towards the front door.

Start again. I'm walking into the flat for the first time.

'Hi, Lissy!' I call self-consciously, as though a camera's trained'on me. 'Gos.h.!.+ I wonder where she is. Maybe I'll ... um ... try her bedroom!'

I walk down the corridor, attempting a natural stride, arrive at her door and give the tiniest of knocks.

There's no response from inside. The thumping noises have died down. I stare at the blank wood, feeling a sudden apprehension.

Am I really going to do this?

Yes, I am. I just have to know.

I grasp the handle, open the door and give a scream of terror.

The image is so startling, I can't make sense of it. Lissy's naked. They're both naked. She and the guy are tangled together in the strangest position I've ever, ever ... her legs are up in the air, and his are twisted round her, and they're both scarlet in the face and panting.

'I'm sorry!' I stutter. 'G.o.d, I'm sorry!'

'Emma, wait!' I hear Lissy shout as I scuttle away to my room, slam the door and sink onto my bed.

My heart is pounding. I almost feel sick. I've never been so shocked in my entire life. I should never have opened that door. I should never have opened that door.

She was telling the truth! They were having s.e.x! But I mean, what kind of weird, contorted s.e.x was that? b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l. I never realized. I never- I feel a hand on my shoulder, and give a fresh scream.

'Emma, calm down!' says Lissy. 'It's me! Jean-Paul's gone.'

I can't look up. I can't meet her eye.

'Lissy, I'm sorry,' I gabble, staring at the floor. 'I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that. I should never have ... your s.e.x life is your own affair.'

'Emma, we weren't having s.e.x, you dope!'

'You were! I saw you! You didn't have any clothes on.'

'We did have clothes on. Emma, look at me!'

'No!' I say in panic. 'I don't want to look at you!'

'Look at me!'

Apprehensively, I raise my head, and gradually my eyes focus on Lissy, standing in front of me.

Oh. Oh ... right. She's wearing a flesh-coloured leotard.

'Well what were you doing if you weren't having s.e.x?' I say, almost accusingly. 'And why are you wearing that?'

'We were dancing,' says Lissy, looking embarra.s.sed.

'What?' I stare at her in utter bewilderment.

'We were dancing, OK? That's what we were doing!'

'Dancing? But ... why were you dancing?'

This makes no sense at all. Lissy and a French guy called Jean-Paul dancing in her bedroom? I feel like I've landed in the middle of some weird dream.

'I've joined this group,' says Lissy after a pause.

'Oh my G.o.d. Not a cult-'

'No, not a cult. It's just ...' She bites her lip. 'It's some lawyers who've got together and formed a ... a dance group.'

A dance group?

For a few moments I can't quite speak. Now that my shock's died down, I have this horrible feeling that I might possibly be about to laugh.

'You've joined a group of ... dancing lawyers.'

'Yes.' Lissy nods.

An image pops into my head of a bunch of portly barristers dancing around in their wigs and I can't help it, I give a snort of laughter.

'You see!' cries Lissy. 'That's why I didn't tell you. I knew you'd laugh!'

'I'm sorry!' I say. 'I'm sorry! I'm not laughing. I think it's really great!' Another hysterical giggle bursts from me. 'It's just ... I don't know. Somehow the idea of dancing lawyers ...'

'We're not all lawyers,' she says defensively. There are a couple of merchant bankers, too, and a judge ... Emma, stop laughing!'

'I'm sorry,' I say helplessly. 'Lissy, I'm not laughing at you, honestly.' I take a deep breath and try desperately to clamp my lips together. But all I can see is merchant bankers dressed in tutus, clutching their briefcases, dancing to Swan Lake. A judge leaping across the stage, robes flying.

'It's not funny!' Lissy's saying. 'It's just a few like-minded professionals who want to express themselves through dance. What's wrong with that?'

'I'm sorry,' I say again, wiping my eyes and trying to regain control of myself. 'Nothing's wrong with it. I think it's brilliant. So ... are you having a show, or anything?'

'It's in three weeks. That's why we've been doing extra practices.'

'Three weeks?' I stare at her, my laughter melting away. 'Weren't you going to tell me?'

'I ... I hadn't decided,' she says, scuffing her dancing shoe on the floor. 'I was embarra.s.sed.'

'Don't be embarra.s.sed!' I say in dismay. 'Lissy, I'm sorry I laughed. I think it's brilliant. And I'm going to come and watch. I'll sit right in the front row ...'

'Not the front row. You'll put me off.'

'I'll sit in the middle, then. Or at the back. Wherever you want me.' I give her a curious look. 'Lissy, I never knew you could dance.'

'Oh, I can't,' she says at once. 'I'm c.r.a.p. It's just a bit of fun. D'you want a coffee?'

As I follow Lissy into the kitchen, she gives me a raised-eyebrow look. 'So, you've got a bit of a nerve, accusing me of having s.e.x. Where were you last night?'

'With Jack,' I admit with a dreamy smile. 'Having s.e.x. All night.'

'I knew it!'

'Oh G.o.d, Lissy. I'm completely in love with him.'

'In love?' She flicks on the kettle. 'Emma, are you sure? You've only known him about five minutes.'

'That doesn't matter! We're already complete soul-mates. There's no need to pretend with him ... or try to be something I'm not ... and the s.e.x is amazing ... He's everything I never had with Connor. Everything. And he's interested in me. You know, he asks me questions all the time, and he seems really genuinely fascinated by the answers.'

I spread my arms with a blissful smile and sink down onto a chair. 'You know, Lissy, all my life I had this feeling that something wonderful was about to happen to me. I always just ... knew it, deep down inside. And now it has.'

'So where is he now?' says Lissy, shaking coffee into the cafetiere.

'He's going away for a bit. He's going to brainstorm some new concept with a creative team.'

'What?'

'I dunno. He didn't say. It'll be really intense and he probably won't be able to phone me. But he's going to email every day,' I add happily.

'Biscuit?' says Lissy, opening the tin.

'Oh, er ... yes. Thanks.' I take a digestive and give it a thoughtful nibble. 'You know, I've got this whole new theory about relations.h.i.+ps. It's so simple. Everyone in the world should be more honest with each other. Everyone should share! Men and women should share, families should share, world leaders should share!'

'Hmm.' Lissy looks at me silently for a few moments. 'Emma, did Jack ever tell you why he had to go rus.h.i.+ng off in the middle of the night that time?'

'No,' I say in surprise. 'But it's his business.'

'Did he ever tell you what all those phone calls were about on your first date?'

'Well ... no.'

'Has he told you anything about himself other than the bare minimum?'

'He's told me plenty!' I say defensively. 'Lissy, what's your problem?'

'I don't have a problem,' she says mildly. 'I'm just wondering ... is it you who's doing all the sharing?'

'What?'

'Is he sharing himself with you?' She pours hot water onto the coffee. 'Or are you just sharing yourself with him?'

'We're sharing with each other,' I say, looking away and fiddling with a fridge magnet.

Which is true, I tell myself firmly. Jack's shared loads with me! I mean, he's told me ...

He's told me all about ...

Well, anyway. He probably just hasn't been in the mood for talking very much. Is that a crime?

'Have some coffee,' says Lissy, handing me a mug.

'Thanks,' I say, a touch grudgingly, and Lissy sighs.

'Emma, I'm not trying to spoil things. He does seem really lovely-'

'He is! Honestly, Lissy, you don't know what he's like. He's so romantic. Do you know what he said this morning? He said the minute I started talking on that plane, he was gripped.'

'Really?' Lissy gazes at me. 'He said that? That is pretty romantic.'

'I told you!' I can't help beaming at her. 'Lissy, he's perfect!'

NINETEEN.

For the next couple of weeks, nothing can pierce my happy glow. Nothing. I waft into work on a cloud, sit all day smiling at my computer terminal, then waft home again. Paul's sarcastic comments bounce off me like bubbles. I don't even notice when Artemis introduces me to a visiting advertising team as her personal secretary. They can all say what they like. Because what they don't know is that when I'm smiling at my computer, it's because Jack has just sent me another funny little email. What they don't know is that the guy who employs them all is in love with me. Me. Emma Corrigan. The junior.

'Well, of course, I had several in-depth conversations with Jack Harper on the subject,' I can hear Artemis saying on the phone as I tidy up the proofs cupboard. 'Yup. And he felt as I do that the concept really needed to be refocused.'

Bulls.h.i.+t! She never had any in-depth conversations with Jack Harper. I'm almost tempted to email him straight away and tell him how she's using his name in vain.

Except that would be a bit mean.